The Elven Capital wraps the World Tree like rings in a trunk, five tiers rising from root to crown.

The first tier is Azure Lake. Boat-houses float like swans on a mirror, and diligent elves sow crops and raise pearls like moon seeds.

The second tier is the Commercial Ward. Streets knit from wooden rails and tiny homes, lanterns flickering like fireflies. Shops and little warehouses cluster like shells. The cushion-and-doll shop sits there, cozy as a nest.

The third tier is the Residential Ward. Lanes carpeted in flowers ripple like petals in wind. Small homes perch in a scattered pattern, warm as hearthlight. From afar, the World Tree wears a floral skirt.

The fourth tier is the Ancient-Source Ward. The Elven Parliament and specialty halls roost there like old owls. Magic steles stand like standing stones. The Flower Fairy’s Gem Garden glows like constellations. Night never darkens it; colored radiance hangs like gem-laden boughs, gilding leaves with starshine.

The fifth tier is the palace. The Elven Queen Tisinate and the Silverwing Elves guard the World Tree’s heart, a realm barred like a frost gate. The only road to the core climbs through this crown.

The battle surges from root to branch. The Elven Guard of the Rangers Lodge and the Autumn clan advance from Azure Lake like a rising tide. The Silverwing Elves sweep out, authority glinting like steel rain, ready to quell a rare storm.

Silver pegasus knights wheel across the sky like snow-feathered gulls, chanting spells in a ringing cadence.

The Silverwing Elves are few, a few hundred against a sea of thousands. Yet their summoning is a river without banks, and royal elf mages back them like pillars of stone.

Bzzzt—

Under their call, Deadwood Wardens haul themselves from soil like roots breaking earth, spirits woven from the corpses of trees.

They move slow as winter sap, yet conjure tangling vines like braided rivers. Tendrils thread underfoot and snare ankles like creeping ivy, halting stride.

Their defense is ironwood thick, yet supple as autumn vine boys yank from old roots. Blades bite like dull rain and do little harm. Only fire spells burn true, their single bane.

But this is the elves’ own city, a dry forest in a wind. Fire would be a beast loose. So neither Xiaobai nor Ruyi dares that spark.

The city guard’s advance stalls like carts in mud. Arrow rain falls from Silverwing bows, and the Deadwood Wardens wall the path. The line freezes at the third tier’s flowered streets.

Arrows trade back and forth like monsoon sheets. The fight turns to attrition, a grind like surf on stone.

In a quiet lane, a small squad bursts forward like a spring of water.

Silhouettes of girls slip past the wardens like wind through reeds, pushing on with steady breath.

It’s Yue Liuyi and her team.

Dixue charges first, butterflies swarming around her like drifting snow. Any warden that brushes a wing slows a heartbeat, threat cut like a string.

Yue Liuyi runs beside LittleSnow and Ailuna, casting Sinking Moon like waves of dusk.

Pegasus arrows come dense as hail. One careless hit hurts like an all-nighter scraping the nerves. Yue rides her airwave spell and blows them off like leaves.

She feels it—mana brimming like a deep well under starlight, flowing and never-ending. The World Tree hums through her bones like a drum.

Normally, she’d be panting like after an 800‑meter dash, sweat cold as rain. Tonight, the blue-haired girl shows no ebb.

Lingwei and Zaocun guard the flanks like twin oaks, each power unfolding like unfurling fronds.

It’s Yue’s first time seeing Zaocun fight head-on. The catfolk girl can look goofy as a kitten, empty as a cloud, yet against these wardens she’s sharp as flint.

She harvests fallen vines from the wardens and braids meteor hammers like storm seeds. Whoosh—whirr—each spin flies out like a hawk, binding swaths of deadwood and lightening Dixue’s load.

Lingwei’s cat sphere draws fire like a tiny sun. Summoned spirits sense magic ripples like fish sense tremors, but they lack wit. A flash of sunlight from the sphere, and attacks drift like moths to flame.

Thus the girls break through, carving a path like a stream through reeds.

“LittleSnow, we reached the Ancient-Source Ward!”

“Mm. Next is the palace ward. The enemy will bar the way like a locked gate. Everyone, be careful.”

“Mm!”

The air in the Ancient-Source Ward feels different, crisp as mountain shade. Magical plants sprout everywhere like jeweled moss. In the Flower Fairy Garden, little sprites produce precious magic stones like dew beads, beauty married to use.

No one lives or trades here day to day. Elves seldom visit. The ward lies empty as a cloister, quiet as a cold pond.

“Eh? I think I’ve seen this scene before…”

Ailuna’s big pink eyes flicker like morning stars. She stops, breath held like a leaf.

“Did you remember something, Ailuna?”

“Mm. I’ve seen that leaf-shaped building.”

“Leaf-shaped…?”

“Xiao Yue, that’s the Elven Parliament.”

“Eh?”

Yue Liuyi looks where LittleSnow points and sees the exquisite hall. Glass and leaves interweave like veins, shaping a great oval leaf hung in air.

Elven art is top tier, nature married to craft like bark to sap. Yet the Parliament’s entrance is sealed, deep-green vines locking it like braided ropes, keeping all outsiders out.

“Ailuna… remembers wanting to go there, but…”

Yue tips her head back. Overhead, a palace of multicolored crystal glows like frozen dawn. That is the elves’ palace. If Ailuna lived there, she could see the Parliament through glass like a distant lake.

From that high eave, you can’t see the lower streets. Roots hide under clouds.

Could it be Ailuna never left the palace?

Yue’s thought falls like a stone in water. It matches Dixue’s guess: Tisinate caged Ailuna like a songbird, never letting her fly.

That’s why she felt nothing on arriving at the World Tree, and flinched at “Elven Parliament” on the first night like a chord plucked tight.

A caged bird sees only a slice of sky.

It’s too cruel. Girls should grow bright and lively like spring shoots, not be locked away, turned into vassals of power like chains on wrists.

Yue clenches her fist. She hates seeing a girl’s smile fade like a dying ember.

This time, she will bring Ailuna out. She will settle it like rain after drought.

“LittleSnow, why is the Elven Parliament closed?”

“Because of the fight, I think. For safety, Xiaobai sealed it for now. When the dust settles, it’ll open like a gate at dawn.”

“Mm…”

Ailuna nods, gaze still fixed on the Parliament like a moth on lamplight.

“Heh, don’t be sad. When this battle ends, we’ll come back and look again.”

“Eh?”

“I’ll ask Ruyi to be our guide, okay?”

“Great! Zaocun wants to go too!”

“Lingwei as well…”

“Don’t worry. Everyone will get a turn!”

They chatter about the future like swallows under eaves.

Then the ground shivers once, a tremor like a drum under roots.

“An earthquake?”

Yue lifts her head. Every building shook like leaves quivering in a gust.

But it isn’t an earthquake.

From the far end of the street, an elven girl walks in like a thunderhead rolling.

Elves rarely wear heavy armor. This girl is the exception, a figure wrought in metal like a temple bell.

Her plate is thick and bright, engraved with intricate floral lines that pulse gold with each breath, like wheat under sun.

A silver-white spear rests in her hand, layered like a tower. It stands tall, three meters like a sapling spear.

Her hair is silver-white with threads of pale red, like frost tipped with dawn.

Her pale-red eyes hold no warmth, fixed like a blade point on her only foe.

Dixue.